


Gone for Good

by IAmIt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Gen, Suicide, depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmIt/pseuds/IAmIt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is dead. Sam is dead, and Dean does not know what he is supposed to do. What can he do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone for Good

**Author's Note:**

> I have not written fanfiction in about 3 years. Starting high school just sucked the life out of me, I guess, and I kind of got insane writer's block. However, after all this time I am finally getting out of it! Woot!  
> So, this will be my first fiction posted to this site- I also have a FanFiction.net account that I posted it to, as well. I hope it is at least semi-enjoyable and... yeah. Here it is.

Dean is sitting in his Impala, eyes forward and staring blankly ahead, unaware of anything that is around him. His breath comes out in a cloud, the cold winter air from outside seeping into the vehicle, but he does not notice. Even as his fingers and nose go numb, and his body begins to shiver, he appears to remain completely oblivious. There is a heavy, roiling sensation in the pit of his stomach; not nausea or a sense of uneasiness, but a grotesque ball of fear and hopelessness sliding around his gut. It is like the feeling you get when you are home alone and think someone is in the house, mixed with the torture of not knowing. Not knowing what to do ( _could he do anything?_ ), not knowing how to act ( _what do normal people do when stuff like this happens?_ ), not knowing anything. His mind is blank except for a tsunami of shitty emotions raging against the inner walls of his consciousness—it was maddening!

            “Dean?” Cas looks over from the passenger seat. Dean has not made a move since shutting off the car ten minutes ago; it was as though he had shut himself off with it. Cas is not sure what he should do. It is getting increasingly cold, sitting in the Impala, as Cas can see by the way Dean subtly trembles and his skin turns red in some places. “Dean,” he repeats. “We should go inside, where it’s warm.”

            There is a beat of silence before Dean, in a voice nothing like his own, chokes out: “Why?”

            Castiel frowns. “Well,” he begins. “Because you are shaking and possibly getting very sick, so I thought—”

            “No,” Dean interrupts, finally looking at Cas. “Why did Sam—?”

            He stops, his eyes suddenly becoming glassy, and he looks away quickly while clearing his throat and attempting to wipe away the tears without Castiel noticing too much. Cas notices, though; he notices a lot, and he now knows what Dean meant when he asked him “why?”

            Castiel looks down at his hands, which at some point had subconsciously began clutching at his knees. He does not know what to say to Dean ( _what could he possibly say to make this any easier?_ ), he does not know what to do for Dean ( _what could he do at a time like this?_ ) The answer was nothing. There was nothing he could say or do that would make what Dean was going through any less painful; but perhaps that was exactly what was best for him right now. Maybe, just allowing himself to _feel_ and accept the horrible truth of what happened tonight, will help Dean move forward and finally live a proper life.

            Of course, Castiel is not going to say this aloud. He knows Dean would lose his mind—at least whatever part of it was present during this time. So instead, Cas exits the car and walks around to the driver’s side, opening the door for Dean. It takes a moment or two, but he finally musters up the strength to pull himself out of the car and stand up, heading past Castiel and straight to the cabin ahead of them. Cas does not take this personally, simply closing the door and following after him.

            They enter the cabin, not bothering to kick off their shoes at the door. Dean goes into the sitting room, sinking onto the couch and closing his. Cas remains standing, rather awkwardly, between the living room and the kitchen. What did he do now? Should he and Dean talk about this? Maybe he should get Dean something to eat—food often seemed a good way of comforting humans. Or perhaps it would just be best if he left the hunter to himself.

            _Good Lord, this will never not be difficult,_ Cas thought. He looks to Dean again and decides it couldn’t hurt to ask… Or it could. One never knew with Dean Winchester, especially when he was in such an unpredictable states.

            “Uh,” he begins. “Do you want or… need anything? I could maybe get you something from the kitchen or just…”

            “Huh?” Dean hums, opening his eyes but not looking at Cas. “Ah, no, no. I just… Could you get me a beer?”

            Cas says nothing as he goes to the kitchen in search of the beverage; he does not have to look very hard. With the bottle in hand Cas returns to the living area and sets the beer down on the coffee table in front of Dean. He sits forward and picks up the beer, but does not open it, just holds it in his hands. Castiel situates himself in the chair across from him, planning what his next words should be. It was unnerving; never before had Dean reacted this way. When situations such as these arose Dean’s knee jerk reaction was to take off and find a solution -- a dangerous and potentially fatal solution, but one that usually worked out nonetheless. This time he had… Cas did not know. He had closed in on himself and shifted into autopilot. It was strange and terrifying, confusing Castiel more than anything else one or both of the Winchesters had done before.

            There are a few minutes of silence where Cas watches, waiting to see if Dean will make a move or start a conversation, but he does no such thing. Realizing that the two of them were going to get nowhere if he left it up to Dean, Castiel initiated the conversation.

            “Dean… I am so sorry,” he says; because he is sorry. Casitel knows there was nothing he could have done when it happened, yet he cannot escape the feeling of guilt looming over his heart.

            Dean looks up at his words, and Cas is slightly worried by the lack of expression on his face. Still, he presses forward.

            “I know this won’t help you right now, and I know you won’t believe me when I say this, but—Dean, there was nothing you could have done, nothing I could have done, to prevent what just transpired. Honestly—and I hate to say this, but I don’t think there was even anything Sam could have done.”

            At the mention of Sam’s name Dean’s face begins to cloud over. His shoulders tense and hunch forward in an aggressive, defensive position and his grip tightens around the bottle clasped between his hands. He still will not make eye contact with Castiel.

            Castiel frowns, concerned and confused, uncertain of what to say next. He wants to console his friend, but he cannot think of a single thing that could even bring him remote peace at this point in time. Cas sighs, feeling drained of energy and a deep thorn of sadness in his chest. Right now, though, what is most important is Dean.

            “I can empathize with how you are feeling, right now. Not precisely, but perhaps on a larger degree than many others. I know what it is like, losing family in battle and… it never gets easier. However, I will still try my best to make things as least strenuous and—.”

            “Shut up, Cas.”

            The angel goes silent, suddenly fearful that he has said something wrong. He tries to apologize: “I didn’t mean to upset you, Dean. I just wanted to help—.”

            Dean is laughing. It is a short, humorless laughter, filled with anger and hate and loss and grief, and all things one would expect from someone in a situation such as Dean’s. Castiel can see the storm finally surfacing in Dean, and bows his head, waiting for it to hit.

            And it does hit. It hits hard.

            In a movement almost too fast to be human, Dean is standing up and hurling the unopened bottle of beer at the wall with all his might. It shatters upon impact, small shards of glass falling to the floor like sharp rain as the liquid splatters across the wall, knocking down pictures and other objects in its wake. Dean turns to Castiel, his eyes burning with rage, his voice fuelled by hatred: hatred at himself for not protecting Sam, and what Cas had not been able to prevent. Hatred mixed with so many other emotions, all of them flashing across his face in a frenzy, swirling within him like a growing tornado.

            “Help? You wanna HELP?” Dean scoffs. “It’s too goddamn late to _help._ Help went out the window when Sam got fucking KILLED!”

            There it was, out in the open. What was boiling inside had spilled over, staining the atmosphere with all its tragedy. Dean was biting back tears with every fiber of his being.

            “He shouldn’t be dead. I should be dead…” He seems to stop and think. Castiel’s worry grows as he watches the spiraling gears go into overdrive in Dean’s mind.

            “Dean,” he says, his tone gentle but warning. “No. I know whatever you’re thinking isn’t right—furthermore, it won’t work.”

            The older Winchester turns on him, eyes flashing. “Oh it won’t, will it?” he snaps. “And why is that? Do you know something I don’t?”

            Castiel bites the inside of his lip, that crinkle between his brows intensifying. He looks down, hands clenched and braced on his knees. “No, Dean you just… You’ve been down this road so many times—both you _and_ Sam. Doesn’t he deserve to rest? Shouldn’t you just let him go?”

            “Let him go?” he spits out like it is poison in his mouth. “Cas, he’s my _brother—_ my _only_ brother! You have thousands, if not fucking millions, of brothers and sisters and fucking whatever else in Heaven. I have…” He stops, closing his eyes in frustration. “… _had_ one here on earth. And he’s fucking dead. Again.”

            There is silence. Dean takes a deep breath, leaning against the couch, both hands braced out in front of him. He shakes his head.

            “No,” he says. “I’m not letting him go. Why can’t you see that I can’t let him go, Cas?”

            “Because I can’t understand how after everything that has happened to you that you don’t see how _stupid_ and _wreckless_ these kinds of decisions are!” Cas finally shouts, standing up with white-knuckled fists at his side. “How many times have you _both_ brought the other back to life? And how many times have you managed to do so _without_ dire consequences?”

            Dean opens his mouth, ready to fight back, but the angel stops him. Castiel speaks firmly and quickly, not allowing Dean a chance to interrupt again. The filter he had accumulated over the course of time he had spent on earth was thrown to the side; he was going to make sure Dean did not cross the line this time.

            “You are not bringing Sam back from the dead, again.”

            Dean stands up to his full height, broad shoulders relaxed and muscles tensing, his expression challenging. He is looking for a fight.

            “And what are you going to do to stop me?” he growls out in a low voice.

            Castiel shakes his head and sighs. “Well, I am not going to fight you, if that’s what you’re hoping for. All I am telling you is that you won’t be able to get Sam back. He has told you himself, Dean, that he didn’t want to come back if he was killed again. He is tired, he _wants_ to _rest._ ”

            “What if he’s not in Heaven? What if he’s in Hell? You and I know ain’t nobody getting any _rest_ down there. I’m not going to leave him there.”

            “He’s not in Hell, Dean.”

            “YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!” Dean bellows. “You don’t know ANYTHING!”

            “YES, I DO!”

            Dean falls into stunned silence, staring wide-eyed at the angel. Cas lets out a breath between his teeth, not having meant to lose his temper, but he is exasperated.

            “Yes, I do,” he repeats, more calmly this time. “I admit, I’m unsure of his exact whereabouts, but I know for certain that he isn’t in Hell. There are angels keeping careful watch over that realm, and I would be notified immediately if there had been any word that Sam was taken there. He may have made some bad choices, but at his core he is a good person, and there are many of us who would never allow him to be held in such a place. Not after all the good he has done.”

            Dean is biting his lip in frustration. He has so much to say, just sitting on his tongue, ready to spill out. His mind is reeling, screaming out for Sam—his baby brother, the only family he has left. But he cannot think of anything more to say to Castiel. The angel does not understand, _no one understands!_ He knows—Dean _knows_ that he should let Sam be, let him be free from all this bullshit, this life of hunting and killing and perpetual loss; but his selfishness is superseding his logic. He does not want to be alone, he does not want to be without family, because without his family what is he? An aggressive, angry, traumatized man with a messed up past and no place to call home.

Even if he were to let Sam go—which even the thought of leaves a feeling of dread in his stomach—what would he do? Go off, find a family, live that “apple-pie” life he was always telling Sam to find if something were to ever happen to him? No… Dean had already tried his hand at living a normal life. It had been nice, he had not hated it, but it was too dangerous. He and all hunters were trapped in the world of demons, monsters and killing—the Winchesters more so than any of them. Their reputation was equal to Hitler’s in the realm of demons; if any of them were to find him retired, with a family or friends, he would find himself watching everyone he had grown close to slaughtered, before being dragged to Hell under maximum security with a lineup half way across the universe of creatures he had “wronged” ready to cut out a piece of him.

            _No,_ Dean says to himself. _No. Sam’s changed his mind since then. He has to have changed his mind… He needs him as much as I need him. We’re brothers._

 _“There ain’t no me if there aint’ no you,”_ he remembers.

            “Dean?” Cas’s voice breaks through his revere, and he looks up. The look of concern is still darting all across the angel’s features, the earlier look of willfulness subsided whilst he had been silent. Dean stares at Castiel, face blank and eyes void. He is done.

            “… Dean?” Cas asks again, but still gains no response. Instead, Dean just turns and leaves, Cas watching his retreating form disappear into the shadows of the hall, before disappearing into an unlit bedroom.

            Castiel stands in the living room, perplexed and uncertain of whether or not he should go after Dean.

            _There’s no point right now,_ he realizes. Reluctantly, Castiel decides that the best course of action is to let Dean be; after everything that has happened today, perhaps some time alone to think will be beneficial to the hunter. In the back of his mind, Cas -knows it will not, he knows that Dean is furious and in a state of turmoil. He wishes for nothing more than to console the brother, but he himself has just lost someone of importance, as well, and Dean has obviously decided he is no longer in the mood to discuss anything with Castiel. So, Cas decides to take the time to grieve for himself, and disappears from the cottage; but keeps a close watch on the green eyed hunter.

xXx

            _Dean and Sam made their way down a flooded, dimly lit hall. Exposed pipes ran along the ceilings and walls, leaking and caked in scum. They attempted to walk along the corridor as silently as possible, but with the water sloshing around their ankles and submerged objects scuffing against the floor underneath, it was difficult, to say the least._

_The Winchesters had watched a group of Crowley’s demons snoop around in an old wine brewery, before a whole swarm of them had set up shop there. Sam had suggested they go in to simply investigate the on goings of the group, and then come back to form an actual plan of attack. Dean—being Dean—had wanted to rush in, guns blazing, but grudgingly agreed to Sam’s suggestion._

_Upon arriving and successfully maneuvering into the parking lot without being seen, Dean had gotten an uneasy feeling, no longer so sure if being there at all had been a very good idea. Sam had jokingly brushed off the sensation as hunger, and skillfully opened the back door with a quiet_ click _with his lock pick and stepped inside._

_“Wait, wait!” Dean whispered urgently, but Sam had already slipped from his sights. He sent out a silent prayer to Cas and followed after his brother, grumbling, “Shit.”_

_After losing their way in the labyrinth of identical halls more than once, Sam and Dean entered a stair well leading to the basement—which often appeared to be the best place to find a demon, or at the least find out their scheme. However, upon entering the basement they found it flooded, the water reaching up to about their mid-calf._

_“No way man,” Dean whined. “These are new steel-toes.”_

_Sam gave him the bitch face. “Seriously?”_

_“What?” Dean shot back a look of incredulousness. “They’re some good shoes.”_

_Sam shook his head and continued down the hall, gun and flashlight at the ready. Reluctantly, uttering complaints beneath his breath the entire time, Dean stepped down into the dark water and trailed after Sam._

_The hall opened up into a large rectangular room, filled with rows of vats all along one wall, the rest of the room lined with broken tables and chairs. There was enough light coming from the windows, higher up on the walls, that they no longer needed their flashlights. Sam moved to enter the room, but Dean stopped him, grasping his arm._

_“What?” Sam asked, then made a humored face. “Are your spidey senses tingling again?”_

_Dean shot Sam his own version of the bitch face. “No,” he said, before he seemed to think twice. “Okay, maybe.”_

_“Well what do you suggest we do?” Sam raised both eyebrows. Dean’s eyes shifted between Sam and the room. Something was just wrong, very wrong. “Come on, Dean. Even if we get some trouble, it’s nothing we can’t handle. It’s just a bunch of demon cronies.”_

_The insistent apprehension clung persistently to the back of his mind, but he trusted Sam—Sam was usually right about a lot of things. He released a breath and nodded. “Alright, I’ll go first.”_

_Dean walked past Sam, conscious of every step he took and every sound that echoed throughout the brewery. Any movement that is not his own or Sam’s almost making him jump out of his boots, but he managed to keep his head until—_

**CRASH!**

          _The windows exploded in a blast of glass as a swarm of demons tumbled into the room, armed with hunting knives and guns alike. Dean turned to see Sam struggling with one demon at his back, holding a blade, and two others in front with rifles aimed right at him. One of the two with a gun looked to Dean with a malicious grin, black eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Drop your weapon or your kid brother gets it,” it commanded._

_Dean had set the gun on a nearby table, only to have a demon kick it out of his grasp as he did so._

_The one Dean assumed to be the current leader put on a face of feigned disappointment. “Awww,” it whined. “And here I thought you’d put up a bigger fight. Make it more interestin’.”_

_“What do you want?” Dean asked, face calm but filled with tension._

It _brought a finger up to its smiling lips, and chuckled at the expression of agitation Dean made._

_“You’ll find out, soon enough,” it said. The creature turned to its comrades. “In the meantime, let’s have a bit of fun with the Winchester boys, huh!”_

_There is a chorus of laughter and suddenly Dean was on his hands and knees when something hard collided into the backs of his legs. Once on the ground it turned into a full blown assault. A fist cracked across his face, a foot was hooked up under his ribs, and the bar used to knock him over was repeatedly brought down upon his back. With everything going on Dean could hardly see what was happening directly in front of him, but out of the corner of his eye he had seen Sam across the room, receiving a treatment ten times worse than his own._

_They burned cigarettes and dug knives into his flesh, bent his fingers back until there was a sickening_ crack _. They took metal wires and wrapped it around his throat, choking him until he turned blue, then released, allowing the younger brother a few seconds to gasp for air before they shoved his head into the water on the floor._

_“Make him watch!” the leader ordered, pointing at the demons beating Dean to a pulp. A set of nails cut into his scalp before it gripped a handful of short hairs, and pulled Dean’s head up to see as they tormented his little brother. One of the demons forced open his bruising eye, and said: “Get a good long look now, Dean. This may very well be the last time you see your Sammy-boy.”_

_He gasped, wheezed, and grunted through the pain, and brought his gaze up to look directly into those of the demon. “I’m the only one who gets to call him ‘Sammy’!”_

_In a flash, Dean had driven two hidden blades into the sides of the demons that held his arms back; they broke off at the hilt, embedding the charmed weapons deep within them. Dean snatched up the fallen crowbar, swinging it into the face of the third demon. Its face torn open, chunks of flush flying across the room, Dean proceeded to shove one end of the bar up into its chest, and_ twisted. _Without another moment to spare, he launched himself towards Sam as fast as he could, the ring leader quickly stepped into his path._

_Just as the two were about to meet, there is an explosion of light and the ceiling came crashing down on top of a handful of demons. Several figures then appeared and had begun cutting down the hellish creatures left standing. Dean looked around, bewildered and disconcerted; he then saw Castiel in a cluster of demons, plunging his blade into their chests, while simultaneously dodging their attacks. Dean grinned and joined in the fight._

_When every last parasitic hell spawn had been massacred, Dean and Castiel had found themselves standing next to one another. The hunter smiled, buzzing with the adrenaline of such a close battle._

_“Just in the nick of time, Cas,” he said almost jovially. He looked around the room. “Sam? Where are you?”_

_There was no reply._

_Dean called to his brother again, and again, and again… without any response._

_“Search the room!” Castiel ordered, who had already begun to head toward the mountainous pile of debris where the explosion had gone off._

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no… _ran through Dean’s mind. He, too, started to search through the collapsed concrete, hoping with his entire being that they would find Sam in one piece; or at the very least still_ breathing.

_As time dragged on, Dean had begun to panic when they could not find Sam._

_“Fuck! Fuck Cas, why did you blow up the fucking ceiling when you knew we were in here?” he raged._

_“Dean, I assure you this was not our doing,” Cas said, obviously anxious and worried for the younger Winchester almost as much as Dean. “This building is old and the structure could have been--”_

_Dean shook his head. “No, that was definitely a damn explosion going off._

_Cas appears rattled, on the verge of falling apart himself, before going back to digging through the debris. “We have to keep looking. That’s all we can--”_

_“I see him!” called one of the other angels. Dean is at her side in a split second, looking in through the opening and seeing Sam’s limp form, his legs compressed beneath a large piece of the fallen ceiling._

_“SAM!” he yelled._

_There is, once again, no response from his younger brother. Suddenly, Dean is breathing fast—quick, deep inhalations of breath, but it is not enough. He could not get enough air. It had been as if all the oxygen had been plucked out of the atmosphere._

_“Get him out NOW!” he shouted at the angels, looking in at Sam again and calling out, “Sam! SAM! SAMMY!”_

xXx

            “GET BACK HERE YOU DAMN DEMON!” Dean bellows into the night, but there is no longer anyone there to hear him. There is only the empty dirt roads, a rundown abandoned farmhouse, and the sound of cars speeding down the highway in the distance. Dean curses under his breath and kicks at the dust on his way back to the Impala, parked in the barn.

            This had been his sixteenth attempt at making a deal with a crossroads demon, but—what felt to him like—his millionth failure at bringing Sam back.

            He had tried making deals with numerous demons, and angels, as well. He had searched through every spell book he could possibly find and went through every resurrection hex he saw, some of them ending him up in the hospital. He had even, at one point, attempted to contact Sam from every plain he had been to or could find incantations for—but to no avail.

            _I ain’t quitting,_ Dean tells himself. _I ain’t quitting until it kills me!_

“There’s gotta be a goddamn demon somewhere I can make a fuckin’ deal with,” he grumbles to himself.

“No,” says a voice behind him. “There isn’t.” It is a familiar low, gravelly voice that always seemed to be coming from behind or somewhere off to the side whenever he first heard it.

            The hunter whirls around to see Castiel, standing a few feet from him as he approaches his vehicle. He is dressed in his usual attire, but looks grungier than usual, more tired and drained.

            “And whaddya mean by that?” Dean bites out.

            Castiel walks toward Dean. “I told you, didn’t I? I won’t let you bring Sam back.”

            Dean’s eyes narrow. “You went behind my back. You made your own deals, didn’t you?”

            The angel says nothing. He does not have to.

            Dean sucks his bottom lip under his teeth, nodding his head. “I see how it is,” he says. The look he gives Castiel is like sending hot daggers into his chest. “I’ll find a way. No matter what you do, I’ll find a way. You’ll see.”

            Castiel sighs. “I didn’t come here to start a fight, Dean. I came to see how you were progressing… or not progressing, as it seems.”

            “Yeah well,” Dean says in a begrudging tone. He turns and walks the remaining few steps to his car, taking the keys out of his pocket. “I’m doing just fine. Fine as anyone can be after holding their dead brother not even six months ago.”

            “… Five,” Castiel mumbles. Dean momentarily turns, giving Castiel a short look, before he resumes unlocking the Impala. When he has it open, he is about to climb in when Castiel calls out for him to wait. Dean does not want to, lord knows he does not want to, but he does. After so long, he should hear what Castiel has come to him to say.

            “What?” he snaps.

            The angel is hesitant at first, like he does not want to say the words he is about to say, but feels that he has to. “Dean, you need to stop trying to bring Sam back…”

            “Oh here we go again,” grumbles Dean under his breath. “Listen, Cas,” he says louder. “I’m not going to stop. No matter what you, or anyone else says. I’m getting my brother back. Got that?”

            Cas shakes his head. “Dean… You can’t.”

            “You don’t think I can? I have before, I can do it again! I told you: I’ll find a way!”

            “No. No. No, no, no.” Castiel is shaking his head harder now. “No. You can’t. Not anymore.”

            Dean is ready to clobber him, friend or not. He is exhausted from the lack of sleep he is getting and the constant running around, trying to bring someone back from the damn dead. He is in pain, from the multiple beatings he has endured from unaccommodating demons (though he beat them back twice as much), and the extensive trials he had to endure for the multiple attempts at ressurection.

            Then he sees it—that _look._ That look on Castiel’s face that means he has done something he is not proud of, something he knows Dean will hate, something he obviously wishes he had not done, but will say he had to do.

            “Cas.” Dean’s voice has become misleadingly level—the one that translates everything spoken into a threat. “Cas, what did you do?”

            His face is full of sorrow and guilt. “I am sorry, Dean,” he says. “But I had to do it.”

            “What?” Dean asks, his tone getting harder, but pitch getting louder. “ _What_ did you _have_ to do?”

            “I… I burned Sam’s body.”

            Dean freezes.

            “There’s no way you can possibly bring him back. He has no body to return to.”

            Dean cannot talk.

            “I didn’t want to do this behind your back. But what you’re doing is wrong—for you and Sam. I had to… I’m sorry, I had to.”

            Dean cannot _breathe_.

            “Dean, I am so—”

            Everything crumbles.

            “SHUT UP! SHUT UP, JUST SHUT UP!” he _roars_. “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

            Dean is charging at him before he even realizes that he is, but Cas blocks him, holding him back before maneuvering away to use Dean’s own weight against him. He goes to the ground, but is up before either of them even knows it and lands a blow across Castiel’s jaw.

            “HOW COULD YOU?”

            He catches Castiel’s eye with his middle knuckle.

            “THAT WAS MY BROTHER!”

            Slices across his cheekbone.

            “HE WAS MY ONLY FAMILY LEFT! AND NOW HE’S GONE!”

            And another, directly on his mouth, loosening a few teeth.

            “GONE FOR GOOD!”

            A hand wraps around his wrist before it can throw the next punch. Dean finds himself fighting against the hold with all he has, but it is not enough—it is nowhere _near_ enough. The Winchester is depleted of all energy, and he finds all he can do now is shout and cry. Cry like he never has before.

            The sounds that escape him are like those he let out in the pits of Hell: anguished, frightened, and full of _pain._

            “Why?” he whimpers between sobs, down on his knees, curled in on himself. “Why did you do this? Why didn’t you help me?”

            Castiel’s heart bleeds for Dean’s loss, for his own.

            “I tried to, Dean,” Cas says in a tight voice. “I just didn’t help you in the way you wanted.”

            Dean is shaking his head. He is shaking all over.

            “Dean please,” Castiel begs. “I only sought to give him the funeral he deserved… because you wouldn’t. For your own selfish reasons you wouldn’t.”

            “You don’t know!” Dean screams.

            “YES! I do know! I keep telling you that, but you don’t listen!” Castiel yells, growing angry. He knows he should not, but he is so fed up with Dean’s venal attitude. “I know better than anyone! I may have not known Sam as long as you or even as well as you, but I know when someone is tired of with living a life they do not want. I know when it is time to let go—I’ve learned that. The only thing I don’t understand is how you haven’t.”

            “He’s my brother…”

            “Yes, he is your brother—and that won’t change!” Castiel tries to comfort. “And it isn’t like you’ll never see him again, you now that. When your time comes, you can join him.”

            Dean stays silent, clasping his hands behind his head as he struggles to breathe.

            “Dean. Please, I am begging you.” Castiel kneels next to him on the ground, eye level with him now. “Let him go. Live your life the way you want, the way you would have you had never become a hunter. And when the time comes, you _can_ see Sam again.”

            “Don’t lie to me. You can’t be sure of that,” Dean chokes out. “You aren’t even sure whether or not Sammy’s in Heaven. If you were, you would have told me.”

            Castiel does not immediately reply, because Dean is right. He does not know whether Sam is truly in Heaven or not. He was not lying when he told Dean that he was certain that Sam was not in Hell, and that remains the same; but he still does not know where he _is_.

            “I can’t do this anymore,” Dean whispers.

Castiel gives him a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

            He sees Dean’s arm shift and looks down to find that there is a gun in Dean’s hand. He raises it, the barrel pointing in his direction.

            Castiel’s eyes widen. “NO! DEAN STO--”

            **BANG!**

**Author's Note:**

> WHUMP! HAHAHAHAHahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaa.... I am sorry.  
> Please review if you liked it. Or if you didn't- healthy criticism is welcomed.


End file.
